Text: Bellairs Reviews Wilder
"Bellairs Reviews Wilder" is the headline of an article that appeared during the 1966-67 school year in the Shimer College student newspaper, the Excalibur. * By John Bellairs: Excalibur, November 7, 1966. Text The delightful student production of Thornton Wilder's The Skin of Our Teeth made me enjoy a play I probably wouldn't have liked otherwise. I was turned off Wilder by a high-school reading of Our Town (in a high school everyone reads Our Town, Silas Marner, Macbeth and a cleaned-up Reader's Digest). My second encounter with Wilder was a part in The Happy Journey that some of us presented at a church in Savanna. Although I enjoyed the Titus-Moody part I had, I came away from the reading more convinced than ever that Wilder is as Midcult as Dwight Macdonald says he is. That is, Wilder is often good -- some of his techniques must have been revolutionary when the plays were first performed--but he has a second-rate mind. I'm sure a good Freudian would have lots of fun with the dominant Norman Rockwell, salt-of-the-earth Backbone of the Family mother who appears in all the Wilder plays I have mentioned. The Great Mother in The Happy Journey bawls out her son for some very minor irreverence, and we are supposed to go heh-heh or at least be tolerate of the mother's little quirks. In fact, what scares me about Wilder is his placidity, his calm well-that's-life view of the spiritually vacant American mid-purpose of life is to keep going: Mrs. Antrobus merely wants to propagate the species--she is a talking womb. Mr. Antrobus is Promethean in a mildly absurd way, but he doesn't seem to be getting anywhere; the missus will tolerate his infidelities, because she knows that life goes on. His speech to Cain Henry in Act III -- a hard thing to give any actor -- is weak attempt to beef up the dignity of the male. What we get is an inventive clown playing opposite Diana of Ephesus. Now, there may be no purpose to life besides procreation, blind begetting but I wish Wilder weren't so damn cheerful about it. The phony upbeat ending tells us that the Antrobuses are full of new plans, though I can't imagine what they are. The Green Curtain production of Wilder's play played down the preachy allegory, or at least put up with it, and so the thing made good theater. Act I was a little ragged, but convincing. Act II was suspenseful and entertaining, and any lapses in Act III were the fault of the playwright. Larry Karp was very entertaining as Mr. Antrobus, and Ann Whitmore did a good job with a part that is hard because, as I said, Wilder makes the mother so blasted stolid. Karen Hurwitz made a delightfully comic Sabina, and Kevin Larmee was convincing as the sinister Henry, especially when he had to break character in the fight scene with his father. Ann Wellington was good as Gladys; she was properly fiery when she ranted at her father in Act II. The minor parts were well handled too: Ruth Jacobs did a brilliant job as the chorus-like Fortune Teller; and Scott Walker was insidious as he introduced Mr. Antrobus jus before the storm. The refugees looked just right, and the 'extras' for the dance of the Hours gave the proper impression of stuffiness or reluctance. Frank Magill was a properly innocent telegraph boy, and the Dinosaur-Mammoth team was very funny. Mr. Magill and Barry Karp gave us imaginative directing, the slide show was funny and smoothly handled, and Warner Johnston engineered a fine, well-lighted set. I very much liked the flood-hurricane end of the world board. Every resort should have one. Bellairs